The Relic Guild (43 page)

A chinking sound disturbed his thoughts.

It wasn’t the first time he had heard it. It came from somewhere far off, echoing through the sewers like the distant clang of a hammer striking stone. After repeating several times, it fell silent again, the final echo ringing away to nothing. With a frown, Samuel left the dead bounty hunter behind, and moved off. The soft pulses of his magic steered his direction, and he trusted where they would lead him.

The term ‘sewers’ hardly did justice to the world beneath Labrys Town. They were more like the shadow of the town, a distorted mirror image, a reflection in a stagnant pond. Up above, trams ran along streets on their tracks; below, rivers of murky sewage water flowed beneath a series of grand arches. Where there were buildings, great support pillars of dark stone stretched from ground to ceiling; alleys and side lanes were mimicked by tunnels that led from one riverside walkway to another, as did the narrow bridges that curved over the flow of rancid waters; and where the sun or moons cast their light down upon the denizens, grimy glow lamps shed patches of pale illumination here and there to break the gloom.

The sewers had always provided the Relic Guild with a means to move undetected and unhindered. It was a secret place that no regular denizen was supposed to see. Samuel had shown his foes the entrance back in his bathroom, but at least they had been stupid enough to follow him.

Striding purposefully along a walkway, Samuel cut right into a tunnel. Every surface of the sewers was slick and damp. In dark corners, poisonous fungi sprouted from piles of filth. Glistening moss grew on the walls and paths, and the atmosphere was oddly clammy, as if a film of oil clung to the air. The stench of this place was more repulsive than Samuel remembered, but it was a familiar smell that reminded him of a better time, a bygone day when the Relic Guild had meant something.

Hamir’s garbled warning rattled in his mind, and he thought of Van Bam.

That bounty notice had carried the official Labyrinth seal, which only the Resident could endorse. Had Labrys Town undergone a change of regime? Could the Genii have found a way to invade the Nightshade? He shook away the implications of that disturbing possibility. Now was not the time.

Approaching the end of the tunnel, he came to a halt. His magic was pressing on his senses, like an itch on the inside of his skull. Drawing his revolver and thumbing the power stone, he crept to the tunnel mouth and peered out, straining his ears for any sound of pursuit.

A river of sewage water ran before the tunnel. The opposite bank was well lit by a series of glow lamps that faded into the gloom. On Samuel’s side, thirty or more paces down the walkway, a bridge crossed the river; a further ten paces on from where it ended on the opposite side was another tunnel.

This tunnel intrigued Samuel. A glow lamp was fixed to the wall directly above its opening, but he could see no signs of movement. Still, his prescient awareness was on the edge, just short of activating. His magic was warning him, moulding his instincts, telling him it was time to wait, not hunt.

Bounty hunters were too egocentric to hold together long as a collective. When the heat was on, loyalties vanished, and the greed and pride of the individual broke through. Samuel had already put two cracks in the team, and fear and a sense of self-preservation had opened those cracks to the final split. Samuel knew the value of patience. This ground was familiar territory for him, and he could wait as long as necessary until the final three assassins came to him, one at a time if necessary.

Revolver in hand, he hung back in the shadows of the tunnel mouth. Once again, his thoughts turned to Van Bam.

The last time Samuel had used the sewers had been forty years before, on the night the Relic Guild believed they had killed Fabian Moor. Moor had fought desperately, and his magic had been unlike anything Samuel had ever faced. And just before he met his end, Moor had destroyed Van Bam’s eyes. Always such a calm and collected man, Van Bam had been reduced by his injuries to a hysterical wreck. He had thrashed and screamed, and complained of voices in his head. Marney had soothed his emotions and eased him into unconsciousness. Samuel had then carried him over his shoulder through the sewers all the way to the Nightshade.

It was thought that Hamir would take care of Van Bam; that the necromancer would be able to mend his eyes, fix him up so that he could return to the streets and his duties with the Relic Guild. No one had realised the voice in Van Bam’s head was that of Gideon. Not one of them had guessed that Van Bam was to become the new Resident of Labrys Town.

So much time had passed since that night, and here he was, once again in the sewers, because of Fabian Moor. Samuel didn’t know what had happened up in the town, whether Van Bam and Clara were alive or dead. Was Samuel now the only surviving member of the Relic Guild?

Movement caught his eye: a brief, shadowy blur …

It came from the tunnel on the opposite side of the river. A figure bolted through the dim light and dived onto the bridge. Samuel’s prescient awareness remained in check, and he understood that his would-be killer didn’t know he was hiding nearby. The bounty hunter was now out of sight, using the wall of the bridge as cover, but Samuel lifted his revolver and took aim in that general direction. His hands were steady and true.

These petty assassins weren’t worth wasting magic on, and there was no point using ice-bullets to capture them – interrogating them would only reveal what Samuel already knew. The fire-bullets in the rifle were also out of the question; they might ignite the gases and fumes in the sewers, and a fireball was the last thing he needed. A regular cold and grey metal slug was all the job required.

Samuel’s magic prickled.

The bounty hunter’s head appeared above the wall of the bridge, silhouetted against the pale light of glow lamps. Samuel’s revolver spat out a single shot. The man’s head snapped back. He barked a quick and piercing scream that sounded more of surprise than pain. For a moment he appeared to be feeling his way along the bridge, and then he rocked and stumbled and finally fell over the edge, splashing down into the river.

Face down in the rank waters, the dead body drifted past Samuel and continued on until it disappeared in the gloom. Samuel deactivated the power stone and holstered his revolver. He waited, listening to the silence. The only sound that reached his ears was the return of the distant chinking of hammer on stone, and it was closer this time. Whatever was making the noise, Samuel’s prescient awareness was drawn towards it. His magic was egging him on. Two bounty hunters remained, and the source of the sound was where he would find them.

It was time to hunt.

Someone yelled. It was impossible to tell from which direction it came; a series of short screeches echoed through the sewers like a repeating death rattle, then faded into silence. Van Bam felt certain the voice did not belong to Samuel.

‘He’s definitely a bounty hunter,’ Clara said, disturbing Van Bam’s misery.

He looked down at the dead body the changeling crouched over, nodded in agreement, but said nothing.

In the pale green light of Van Bam’s illuminated cane, the two agents stood in a slime-covered sewer tunnel. The dead man lay on his back, his eyes closed. There was no blood, but his tongue hung from the corner of his mouth, and his throat had been brutally disfigured. Van Bam almost pitied him.

Along with those screeches, the body was a sure sign that Samuel was still alive.

‘How many do you think are after him?’ Clara said.

‘Impossible to say,’ Van Bam replied. ‘Unfortunately, Old Man Sam has many enemies among the bounty hunters of Labrys Town.’

‘We have to help him.’ Clara stated. ‘Let’s move.’

Van Bam remained where he was and stared at the young changeling. It wasn’t just her cold, hard tone of voice that bothered him, it was her colours. Clara had been beaten and pulled in all directions, and Van Bam could detect hues of livid emotions blooming within her body.Her bruised and swollen face might have appeared impassive, but there was a magical yellow shine to her eyes. It suggested the wolf had fired up in her a need to find these bounty hunters and vent all her anger upon them.

‘Clara, can you remember—’

‘No, Van Bam!’ she snapped. ‘I still don’t know what Marney did to me. Now, are we going to help Samuel or not?’

‘There is no rush,’ he told her.

Clara clenched her teeth. ‘What?’

‘We cannot help Samuel by chasing around in the shadows, Clara. In fact, we would only hinder him.’

Clara scoffed. ‘You can’t be serious. You’ve just said there’s no telling how many bounty hunters are after him.’

Van Bam’s metal eyes stared into the gloom beyond the tunnel. He felt no irritation at her scorn, only a deep sadness.

‘Clara, if you could say you have learned one thing thus far, it should be that Samuel is a killer. You know he is exceedingly efficient at what he does.’ Van Bam studied the dead body. ‘Without doubt, the bounty hunters are the ones in need of help now.’

‘Then what, Van Bam?’ Her tone was accusing. ‘We just hang back and let him fight his way out? Wait until he tells us the coast is clear?’

‘After a fashion, yes.’ He sighed. ‘We will continue on, Clara, but at a careful pace. Your heightened senses will lead us to Samuel eventually.’

‘Don’t bet on it,’ she snarled. ‘All I can smell is shit!’

Van Bam faced her. He knew that Clara’s protests were driven more by anger than a true desire to help Samuel, but they would never extricate themselves from this predicament unless she gathered herself.

‘Your sense of smell led us to this dead body, Clara,’ he said, ‘and it will steer us to where we need to be. Please, point your aggression in the right direction and lead the way.’

She glowered at him. ‘Fine,’ she whispered and her nostrils flared. ‘This way.’

With his cane held aloft like a torch, Van Bam followed Clara out of the tunnel to a walkway that ran alongside the river of flowing sewage. Although her colours had abated to something a little less hostile, Clara was clearly frustrated by their casual pace, and Van Bam had to ensure she did not stray too far ahead and exit the globe of light. The cane shed a strange illumination in which the agents cast no shadow; so long as they remained within its circle, they would not be seen or heard by any bounty hunter they happened upon.

As Clara led the way across a bridge that arched over the thick and rank river, Van Bam appreciated how the atmosphere of the sewers must have been cruel on her heightened senses. Stifling humidity ensured every surface was dank and slick, and the stench cloying the air was palpable as smoke. Breathing through the mouth was the preferable option, but Clara’s nose was their best ally in this situation. Van Bam did not envy her.

He cocked his head to one side, searching for the voice of Gideon. The silence endured in his mind, and it was maddening. For the first
time in forty years he missed the spiteful
ghost’s guidance. He hadn’t felt so alone, so
lost, since the day the Genii War had ended.

The
Last Storm, they called it: the day the Timewatcher’s
armies vanquished the threat of Spiral and his hordes once
and for all. It had been a time of celebration
among the Houses of the Aelfir. But in the Labyrinth
, the Last Storm had heralded a time of change.

Gideon
the Selfless was dead, having sacrificed his life to save
the denizens from Fabian Moor, and the Nightshade welcomed a
new Resident: a mysterious blind man by the name of
Van Bam. And Van Bam’s first duty had been
to inform his people that the Timewatcher and Her Thaumaturgists
had abandoned them, and they would never see the Aelfir
again.

Van Bam had always thought of that day as
the saddest of his life. But now, he wasn’t
so sure.

The Nightshade had been taken from him, he
no longer heard Gideon’s voice in his head, and
he had been forced to flee into the stinking sewers
beneath the streets of the town he had once governed
. He had never felt such a failure.

‘Listen,’ Clara whispered
. She was staring down the tunnel she had been about
to lead them into. ‘Can you hear that?’

Van Bam
could. A distant sound echoed through the sewers, the slow
, rhythmic chinking of metal on stone.

‘What is it?’ Clara
asked.

Van Bam didn’t reply. He listened to the
sound until it stopped and the last echo petered out
.

He nodded to Clara to continue into the tunnel.

The
Genii had gained control of the Nightshade. But why? What
in the Timewatcher’s name could they do with it
? Spiral was long lost, the Thaumaturgists gone, and the Aelfir
could not be reached from the Labyrinth. Was simple revenge
upon the denizens Fabian Moor’s driving reason for returning
after all?

Van Bam’s thoughts turned to the avatar
, the mysterious blue ghost that had set so much in
motion. Perhaps Samuel was right; perhaps it was no friend
to the Relic Guild after all. Van Bam believed the
avatar was a portent, that it was guiding them into
a future that was for the
good of the Labyrinth. But what good could come from the Genii controlling the Nightshade?

Frustrated, confused, Van Bam prayed that he would hear Gideon’s voice again.

After navigating more slimy walkways and mould-coated tunnels, Clara paused to stare down at a spot in the river where the water bubbled and frothed. Bitter fumes filling the air dried the inside of Van Bam’s mouth.